


A Complete Misdirection...

by AllHallowsEve



Series: Wincest Colored Glasses [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Conflicted Emotions, Confused Emotions, Desire, Episode: s01e19 Provenance, F/M, Kissing (but not the kind we want), Longing, M/M, Misery, Misunderstandings, Pre-Slash, Sadness, Self-Hatred, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHallowsEve/pseuds/AllHallowsEve
Summary: The boys run headlong into a case with a haunted painting.  Sam runs into the arms of a woman.  Emotional fallout ensues.Episode 19 as seen through Wincest colored glasses.





	A Complete Misdirection...

**Author's Note:**

> I think this one is my longest yet of this series. It has a lot of coda work in between existing scenes which added a lot to the length. 
> 
> As always it is unbeta'd so please point out any mistakes in grammar, punctuation, or just plain bad writing.

Dean watched as Sam motioned to him from across the bar.  Sam was focused on finding a case.  Dean had been doing everything in his power to try and get laid.  Ever since the Shtriga, he has felt raw and fearful.  He opened himself up to Sam about the past, and like a crack in a dam, he can’t seem to stop himself from wanting to open up about so very much more. 

Having Sam be so supportive, having him believe in Dean that way, it was so hard.  When deep down, Dean wanted to do so many bad things to Sam, he didn’t deserve to have Sam look at him like he was good, like he had saved him, because the truth was, he had almost failed again, letting him almost die twice to the same monster.  That guilt tied itself up with the raw blasphemy he felt in every cell for the incest in his heart.

Dean needed to find an outlet for his desire, even if it was a false one, just to get some kind of release, some kind of momentary numbness.  So that was why they were in this bar and why he was trying so desperately to hook up with this woman standing before him.

But Sam was giving him the harder more insistent wave now, meaning he must have found a case for them. 

Sam watched, his stomach in a knot, as Dean sauntered over from the bar, where he had been entertaining two lovely ladies for the better part of the last half hour.   Sam knew the drill.  Dean would be hooking up with one or both of them tonight unless Sam could pull his attention away with this case he had found.

But as an even more unappealing surpise, Dean suggested that Sam hook up with the blonde, and Sam’s voice fell flat, “Dean, uh, no thanks.  I can get my own dates.”

His brother’s face fell, “Yeah, you can, but you don’t.”

Sam asked him what that was supposed to mean.  Dean had actually sounded worried, not annoyed.  Sam knew that the mourning period for Jessica would only last so long before his brother became suspicious and began nagging at him, but it hadn’t even been a year.  He thought he would have more time to come up with an excuse why he didn’t want to hook up with anyone.  Sam was tired.  Was tired of fighting himself, fighting his face to not show how hurt he was every time Dean hooked up with some random person.

He was tired of feeling so lost about his own desires for Dean with no one to talk to about them.  He was just plain tired down to his soul.

He didn’t feel like fighting with Dean, and was glad when his brother dropped it and just asked about the case he had found.

Sam explained that there was a couple, in New Paltz, New York who had been killed in their own home, but that there was no sign of entry by an intruder.  All doors and windows had been locked up tight.  He knew it wouldn’t normally be enough to catch Dean’s attention and pull him away from his conquest for the evening, but Sam had a secret weapon.

Their Dad had notated three similar cases in the area dating all the way back to 1912 in his journal.  If anything was going to lure Dean away from a pretty girl, it was a case his dad would want him to work.

Sam’s mood immediately lifted upon hearing Dean say “All right.  I’m with you.  It’s worth checking out.”

Sam began to smile in relief.

Dean asked innocently, “We can’t pick this up till first thing, though, right?”

Sam agreed not knowing what his brother’s point was until he said a quick, “Good,” and all but ran back to the bar to stand between the two women.

Sam’s face fell as he said, “Dean…” to thin air.

He watched his brother work his magic on the two for a while longer before sneaking out to go back to their motel to do more research on the case.  He didn’t bother trying to sleep before Dean came back, he was in too bad a mood to be able to rest, so research was his saving grace, as it had been so many nights before.

Dean finally came in smelling more of booze than he did of perfume.  Unbeknownst to Sam, he had to go back to the bar after finishing with the ladies because he couldn’t get his mind to stop picturing Sam in all the poses he had manhandled the women into.  He was aching all over, from the gallons of alcohol he had consumed, by the time he stumbled in and threw up in the motel bathroom.

He asked Sam to drive and fell asleep against the door of Baby, finally trying to escape his want, his need, his never ending thirst for Sam, with oblivion.

Dean hadn’t managed to escape. He was balls deep inside his little brother having the time of his life when an unearthly horn blasted him awake.  He then heard Sam’s laugh and looked up to see Sam’s dimpled smile shining brightly at his own miserable face.

Sam explained to him that the murder victims’ house was clean of any signs of any malevolent spirits, and if there were any cursed objects they had no way of knowing because the house was completely cleared out of  all belongings.  They found out the items had already been moved and tagged for an estate sale at a local auction house.  So they tried their luck at playing their way into the crowd as art dealers.  They had just found a strange painting that caught Sam’s attention when a young woman came walking down the stairs behind them, asking Sam in a haughty tone, “A fine example of American Primitive wouldn’t you say?”

Sam thought for a moment and answered, “Well, “I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses…”  He paused for effect before continuing, “But you knew that.”

He confronted her about just wanting to see if he knew the difference, and she agreed that is what she was doing.

Dean kept stuffing the little foods in his mouth as fast as he could each time a tray was passed within arm’s reach.  He watched Sam as he seemed to be flirting with the woman who introduced herself as Sarah Blake, the daughter of the owner of the auction house.  He didn’t really like the way she was looking at Sam, and Dean really disliked the way Sam was smiling down at her in return. 

Dean hoped it was all just part of the art dealer shtick Sam was selling in order to see what Sam had called the provenances of the items.  But before the brothers could get any information, the woman’s father came stepping up and insisted they leave since they weren’t in fact on the guest list.

The brothers stepped into their new motel room and both took a beat to allow the intense 70s disco flare of the décor to wash over them.  As they unpacked, Dean brought up Sarah as a potential source for the provenances, and before Sam realized what his mouth was saying, his jealousy came flying out with, “Maybe you can get her to write it on a napkin.”

But then before Sam had a chance to freak out over what he had just let show, Dean turned it around on him and said “It wasn’t my butt she was checking out.”

Dean gave Sam a look that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.  He asked Dean to make sure he was getting the insinuation clear, “In other words, you want me to use her to get information.”

Dean liked the way Sam had seemed oblivious to Sarah’s interest.  He hated throwing Sam at her like this.  But since Sam didn’t show any interested, it seemed like the quickest way to get the info and get done with this case so he could get Sam the hell away from that woman.

Sam asked Sarah out to a restaurant in town, and she was nice.  She shared her background with him, and he shared a little with her.  The way she described going into a shell after her mom’s death, reminded Sam of how he had felt so walled inside himself his whole childhood and teen life, from the loss of his own mom.  He knew that is probably what Dean thought he was doing now because of Jess, but that wasn’t the case at all.  Of course he was sad at her death and still felt guilt over it, but he didn’t want anyone else but Dean, never had, and was tired of trying to act like that wasn’t the case.

Dean sat in the motel room alone on pins and needles the entire time Sam was gone.  He tried convincing himself that nothing would happen because Sam wasn’t a hook up on the first date kind of guy.  But what did he really know about adult Sam?  They had been on the road together for months now and he knew the guy was in mourning over Jessica, but he never talked about anything before Jessica.  He never reminisced about hookups or what kinds of people he dated before Jessica.  So Dean really had no clue what Sam’s dating style even was now.

It chewed him up the entire time Sam was gone.  He spent the time getting all their gear ready for whatever they might be facing on this hunt.  Cleaning and loading all their guns.  He had moved on to sharpening their knives by the time Sam got back. Dean tried to act nonchalant when Sam informed him that Sarah had just handed the information they needed over to him.

His stomach churned when Sam explained that they went back to her place.  He didn’t want to hear what Sam might have had to do to earn the right to see the papers, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And?”

He couldn’t believe it and tried desperately to hide his relief when Sam confirmed, “And nothing, that’s it.  I left.”

Sam’s frustration with his brother grew as he kept on insinuating that there was more to it.  He huffed at Dean, telling him to get his mind out of the gutter. 

Dean even suggested that after the case was over, they could stay a while so that Sam could take her out again.

Dean’s jealousy got the best of him, he said “It’s obvious you’re into her, even I can see that.”

He was hoping for Sam to refute his belief, to deny it and somehow prove to Dean he was wrong.  Sam blew him off, turning his attention instead to the papers he had been examining about the items and their provenances.

It had only taken a few minutes before Sam found the item they needed to be looking for.  It was the painting that had given him the creeps at the auction house, the one that he and Sarah had discussed.  He showed Dean how the provenance matched all the names of people who had died that their Dad had labeled in his journal about the case.

The boys snuck into the auction house and cut the painting out of the frame.  They took it out to a deserted road and burned it to ash.

They went back to the motel, high on how well the case had turned out.  It had been a long time since something had wrapped up so easily.  Dean seemed eager to get going the next morning and decided he wouldn’t go out for the night.  It made Sam so happy that he let his guard down and agreed to kick back and watch a movie in the hotel with Dean and drink a couple of six packs they had picked up on the way back to celebrate their success. 

Sam hadn’t counted on what came next.

There wasn’t a couch in the strange disco room and so they had to settle for watching a dvd on the laptop.  But in order to do so they had to sit side by side on one of the small beds.  It shouldn’t have been a big deal, they used to do the same thing growing up, laying together on one of the beds in front of the motel tv/vcr setups that most motels had back then.

But they hadn’t done so since Sam had come back on the road with Dean as an adult.  And they hadn’t counted on the bed being so small compared to both of the men’s bodies now being over 6 feet tall.  To accomplish the feat they had to sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the length of their long legs touching each other, as they began pounding back the beers.

Once both brothers realized this was a bad idea, neither knew how to get out of it without making it seem weird.  Sam didn’t think he could sit this way for long without some kind of liquid courage.  So he began drinking the beers like his life depended on it.

Sam was so much more of a light weight when it came to drinking that Dean didn’t realize until it was too late.  Sam got lower and lower on the bed, the more he drank, and soon he was passed out, unfortunately in his sleep his head found its way to Dean’s chest.

Dean’s heart was pounding so hard he worried it would wake Sam up from the violence of it.  Then Sam threw his arm across Dean’s stomach and snuggled in, beginning to snore softly from his mouth hanging open.  The movement had sobered Dean completely, feeling like he hadn’t had a drink in a year.  His mouth was dry and his breath was coming too quick.  He didn’t know what to do, and the laptop was weighing heavy against his dick that had hardened with super speed from the feel of his brother curled against him.

He had to get free from this trap.  If he didn’t he wasn’t sure his resolve would hold.  Sam’s body was so warm and he felt so strong where his hand gripped Dean’s shirt like he used to as a child.  Dean felt like the worst person on the planet.  Every cell in his body wanted to scoot down in the bed and just envelope Sam in his arms, but he knew he couldn’t do that.  Dean’s lips ached to brush against the soft pink of Sam’s.  He was so close, he could do it without even waking him, he was sure of it.

He didn’t realize he had moved at all until he felt Sam’s baby soft hair brush against his cheek and Dean froze in horror.  _What the hell was he doing?_   Dean squirmed out from under Sam’s arm, left the laptop beside his brother on the bed and rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him before collapsing against it.  He slid to the ground and cried.  He cried because he had almost ruined everything. 

Dean was going to fuck around and lose the only thing that meant anything to him.  _How could he have been so stupid?_   His hands shook as he tried to stand up.  He felt on the verge of vomiting up all the beer he had swigged down to keep up with Sam.  He should have never encouraged his brother to drink like that.  He climbed into a cold shower, hoping it would somehow make him feel better, make him forget what he had almost done, what he still somehow suicidally wanted to run back out there and do.

_Okay how to fix this?_   Nothing he was doing was working obviously.  No matter how many chicks he banged, he wasn’t lessening his desire for Sam at all.  And now he was allowing himself to make really stupid mistakes almost costing him everything.  _How to fix it?_   If he couldn’t get over Sam, maybe he could push Sam into something with someone else.  _Maybe if he saw Sam happy, and with someone else, then he could be happy for him, and stop being so fucking selfish._  

Sam had been sad for too long.  He needed to get over Jessica, he needed to get back on the horse so to speak.  Yes it would kill a part of Dean to watch it happen, but maybe it would also teach that part of himself a lessen once and for all.  He doesn’t get to have Sam in that way.  He has to just be thankful that Sam is here, and with him, and that has to be enough.  _Yes, this is a good plan, he will just force Sam to hook up with Sarah._  It was obvious that he liked her, so he just had to come up with an idea to throw the two of them together again.

As they were packing the next morning Dean dropped the bomb that was the beginning of his genius plan.  He told Sam that he had lost his wallet at the warehouse the night before and they had to go retrieve it before they left town.  He laid the panic on thick and convinced Sam it had to be done, because it had his prints and id and incriminating evidence in it.

Sam was pissed.  He didn’t want to take a chance of seeing that Sarah person again.  He had slept so well the night before and had woken up to such a good mood that this was spoiling it.  He just wanted to leave this case and town behind and get on the road first thing this morning.  Now Dean had done something boneheaded like this.  He didn’t try to even hide his frustration as he threw the shirt he had been folding roughly down onto his duffle in a huff.

They began to frantically search all around the auction house.  Sam berated Dean, it wasn’t like him to be so careless, especially not while on a job.  Sarah came out of one of the rooms and saw them, asking what they were doing there.  Sam explained that they were heading out of town and they just came by to say goodbye.

Dean shocked him by saying, “What are you talking about Sam?  We’re sticking around for at least another day or two.”

Sam’s face went blank and then scrunched up in confusion as he twisted his head towards his brother.  The setup became blatantly clear moments later when Dean said, “Oh Sam, by the way, I wanted to give you that 20 bucks I owe you.”

Dean pulled out his wallet with a flourish to let Sam know exactly how badly he had been played.  Sam’s heart fell.  He hated when Dean tried to push people at him in bars, and this was so very much worse.  Dean left Sam standing with Sarah looking at him expectantly.

Sam tried to explain to her that his brother had just been horsing around but then he saw the painting they had burn the night before being carried down the stairs and moved to a place just off to the side of where Sarah stood.  He freaked out, unable to hide his distress.

Sam made some pathetic excuse about needing her not to sell it, and told her he would call her before all but running from the warehouse. He told Dean the bad news and Dean seemed to take it harder than Sam expected. 

Dean’s tone was gruff and unusually terse with his little brother because his skin had felt like it was covered in ants the entire time Sam had been alone with Sarah inside.  At least with the case unfinished it gave Dean something to focus on other than how horrible he felt pushing Sam towards Sarah.  He knew his plan to throw Sam at her was going to make him uncomfortable, but Dean didn’t plan on the feeling of a thousand rats lodging themselves inside his intestines clawing and scratching to get out.

They boys went to the local library to see if they could dig up any information about the Isaiah Merchant family from the portrait.  They found a very helpful librarian who seemed eager to share the information about the murder associated with the family.  Isaiah had been a barber and had killed his wife, two sons and adopted daughter with a straight razor.  He supposedly had ruled his family with an iron fist, being stern and harsh and there were whispers that the wife was going to take the kids and leave, but he put a stop to them before she could do so.  Supposedly all the bodies were cremated.

The librarian even found a photo of the original painting, but Sam realized as he stared at it, that the painting was different from what it looked like when they burned it.  The father was looking down the last time Sam saw it, but in the original photo of it, he was looking straight ahead the same as the rest of the family.

Dean insisted they go and look at the painting again to see if anything else might have changed that could give them a clue as to how they might stop it, since burning the thing hadn’t done the trick.  Dean ended his soliloquy by saying it would give Sam, “More time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Dean had walked away from Sam while he said that, plopping himself down on his bed.  Thoughts of what happened there the night before made him cross his arms in determination to follow through on his plan, as Sam told him, “Dude, enough already.  Ever since we got here, you’ve been trying to pimp me out to Sarah.”

Sam was so frustrated with his brother.  He had no clue why he was pushing him so hard but it was stomping on his last nerve.  He didn’t want her, didn’t want to be with her or anyone else but Dean for that matter.  He let his aggravation show as he said, “Just back off alright.”

Dean wrapped his arms over his chest tighter, in a defensive stance as he asked, “Well, you like her, don’t you?”

Dean followed up explaining how he saw it.  Sam liked her, she liked him, they were two consenting adults, Dean insisted stubbornly that he didn’t see what the problem was.  All the while wishing he had a knife to carve out his chest, to make what he was saying and proposing less painful.

Sam huffed in annoyance. “What’s the point Dean?” He couldn’t express how much there was no point.  He would never feel anything but dissatisfaction in sex with anyone but his brother.  He knew that, he had been trying to accept that and just not try anymore.  He of course could say none of that so he just floundered and in exasperation said, “We’ll just leave.  We always leave.”

Dean gave a fake laugh, “Well, I’m not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam’s anger boiled over.  His voice rose in consternation.  “I don’t get it.  What do you care if I hook up?”

Dean tried to play it off, tried to maintain the easy going attitude, but was worried he might have pushed a little too hard.  He hadn’t expected Sam to fight this so much.  He used Sam’s own aggression to hide the truth behind, “Maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time.”

The boys stared at each other across the room.  Neither aware of what the other was truly thinking or going through. 

Dean decided to try another tactic, a softer one that might get through to his brother, make him choose to put Sarah as a wall between them after all.  He sat up, determined to make this work.

He tried to make Sam see that this wasn’t just about him hooking up, that he thought this Sarah girl could be good for Sam.  Dean hoped desperately that her being with Sam would put some kind of distance in Dean’s own mind, help him to see just how “off limits” Sam was.  He had to do something and this seemed like his only play.

Dean watched Sam fuss with his hair across the room, obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation had turned.  Dean swallowed hard, adding “I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m,” he faltered for a second before continuing, “I’m sure that this is about Jessica, right.”

It hit Sam like a gut punch.  _No for fucks sake it wasn’t about Jessica._   It was because the love of his life was sitting there wanting him to hook up with someone else instead of being with him.  His heart ached from it, his chest was on fire. 

Dean continued oblivious to the cause of the growing distress he was causing. “Now I don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that…”

Dean’s caring tone, his compassionate side that he rarely showed was only making things worse for Sam.

Dean’s face was so open, so giving, in a way Sam rarely got to see, as he continued, “But…”

Dean looked away from Sam, he felt like he was coming apart inside, that he was stripping pieces of himself away with each word. He had managed okay this far, but he hated himself for manipulating Sam this way, using his pain, for Dean’s own gain.  He kept telling himself, it was for Sam’s own good, he had to protect Sam from anything like what almost happened last night from ever happening.  He had to protect Sam from Dean himself, and if that meant saying anything to get Sam to be with someone who obviously wanted him, then he would just dig deep and do it.

“I would think that she would want you to be happy.” 

Sam’s eyes filled with tears.  A small smile formed at the corner of his lips, as he remembered how free he had been with Jess, how much fun he had allowed himself to have because Dean wasn’t there, and was protected from Sam’s twisted desire by miles and silence.  Jessica would want him to be happy, to move on. 

Sam’s face morphed into something more serious right before Dean’s eyes.

Sam’s thoughts turned to how horrified Jessica would be if she knew what it would take to make Sam truly happy.  Maybe he should sleep with this Sarah person.  Maybe trying to just get back on the horse in any way, other than the way he wanted, would be the only thing he could do to protect Dean from the monster lurking inside Sam, since it was clear he was not strong enough to run away like he had been when he went to Stanford. 

Maybe Dean was just really genuinely worried about Sam.  Sam hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought of how Sam’s not moving on might make his brother turn on the “take care of Sammy,” switch.  That hadn’t dawned on Sam.  He tried to make his brother think he would do what he wanted.

Even though it cut at his soul to say so and he was unable to look Dean in the eyes as he told the lie, he whispered, “Yeah, you’re right.  Part of this is about Jessica.”

He swallowed hard, fighting back tears.  He had meant to leave the conversation there, didn’t mean to say anything more, but his mouth ran away from him when he confessed, “But not the main part.” 

His eyes found Dean’s as Sam realized in terror what he had just said.  Sam’s face dropped into a blank mask momentarily, as he panicked over what to say next.  Some of the color drained from his lips and face as he thought of how closely he had come to unwittingly saying too much, it froze his brain with fright. 

Dean’s face was still full of compassionate concern as he asked, “What’s it about?”

Sam struggled, coming up with nothing to explain what he had just said.  He felt sick to his stomach, his chin quivered and he turned away from meeting Dean’s intense gaze.

Dean realized he had accomplished nothing but shutting Sam down.  He gave it up for lost, disgusted with himself for failing, saying, “Yeah, all right.”

He lay back on the bed in defeat, turning again to the case at hand, telling his brother that they still needed to see the painting so he still needed to call Sarah.

Dean watched his brother pick up the phone, but couldn’t bear to watch the rest, so he shut his eyes and laid his head back against the cushioned headboard.

Sam called and asked Sarah to let them see the painting again, explaining they might actually want to buy it.  But he stood up in shock asking her who she had sold it to, and what the address was. He had to explain to her that the current owner might be in danger, otherwise she refused to give him the information. 

When the brother’s pulled up to the new owner’s house, they were dismayed to find Sarah already in the driveway.  She didn’t know what to believe but insisted that she was going in with them because the woman her father had sold the painting to was a friend.  It was too late by the time they got inside, the woman was already dead.   The three looked at the painting as the figure of Isaiah seemed to be in a different pose than he had been before.

They boys left, asking Sarah to lie to the police and say she had gone there and found the dead woman on her own.  They waited back at the motel, not knowing if the next knock at the door would be Sarah, or the police. 

They were both relieved when it turned out to be her.  She stormed in demanding that they explain what had happened.  At first she was in denial, but the more the brothers revealed the more she got on board, finally insisting that they take her back and show her what they meant about the painting being haunted.

Sam balked.  Dean watched quietly from the other side of the room, taking refuge behind the lap top screen, as the conversation escalated between Sam and Sarah, with his insisting that she go home.

He saw a sad determination cross Sam’s face before he stated softly, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sam meant it the way he never wanted any civilian to get hurt, and this girl seemed hell bent to put herself in harm’s way.  But Dean read it differently, misread it, thinking he was finally seeing what Sam had been holding back earlier.  That somehow Sam still blamed himself for Jessica’s death, and that he didn’t want to hook up with anyone, especially someone he liked, in the chance that they might get hurt.

Sarah was not having them deny her, she told Sam that she and her dad might have gotten these people murdered, and even though she was scared, she wasn’t going to let that stop her from getting to the bottom of this.  She stormed out, assuming the brothers would follow behind. 

Dean took the chance to push once more, now that he thought he understood where his brother was coming from.  Seriousness hadn’t succeeded so he tried a different tact, “Sam,” Dean pointed at the door she had just walked through and said, trying for lighthearted, “Marry that girl.”

The small group of three headed out to the crime scene to take another look at the demented painting.  Once back at the victim’s house the boys discovered that there were other anomalies with the painting and upon closer inspection Dean saw that the painting on the wall within the painting now showed a mausoleum with the name Merchant on it.

The brothers, along with Sarah, went to three separate graveyards before finding the Merchant mausoleum.  Much to their dismay, they discovered that only the wife and children’s ashes were stored there, along with momentos for each child.

Sam and Sarah waited outside while Dean tried to find Isaiah’s death certificate at the county records office.  Their discussion turned deep about emotions and why Sam was so closed off.  He of course couldn’t tell her the truth about his being hung up on Dean, so he picked the closest thing to the truth and told her about what happened with Jessica, and also that he had lost his mom, just trying to get her to see that people around him got hurt. 

He did open up a little more honestly when he confessed that he felt cursed.  In so many ways he did feel that way. Between the unnatural desire for his brother that he had been carrying around for more than a decade, and now the psychic phenomenon occurring with him intermittently, he felt even more like a cursed freak than he had all his life.

Sam was feeling frustrated, Sarah made so much sense with all her descriptions of “if you shut out pain, you shut out everything else, too.”

The pain Sam was desperately trying to shut out was his need, and longing for his own brother.  He had tried everything he could to get over it, to get past it, but all that ever did was make it more raw somehow.  He had been dangerously close to confessing his feelings for Dean not even 24 hours ago.  He had to try to shut his emotions off, he didn’t know what else to do.

Yes he had thought maybe he could hook up with Sarah in the hopes it would push it down or numb it for a while out of reckless panic after almost spilling everything to Dean, but now, hearing the depth of emotion in her voice, she seemed to really care about Sam, and that just wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair to lead her on in that way, knowing his heart belonged to his brother.

Sam tried hard to shut her down, saying he just couldn’t go through the pain of loss the way he had before.  He was frantically trying to make her understand and back off when Dean came out of the building unnoticed by either of them.

Dean watched the exchange, seeing Sam’s sadness and anguish fly across his expressive face.  He couldn’t hear what was being said from the distance but he picked up the pace to get there quicker.  Whatever was going on, it didn’t look good from Sam’s perspective and Dean would be damned if he would let this woman hurt his baby brother.  The entire point was to protect him from harm from Dean, not feed him to someone who would hurt him too.

Before either of them had a chance to see his approach, Dean popped his head in between them, eyes focused squarely on Sam, feeling the sadness waft off of him like smoke after a fire.  He said loudly, “Am I interrupting something?” turning his gaze pointedly at her, now not trusting where this might be going at all.

They both denied it, and Dean quipped his disbelief at them with, “Apparently.”

Sam asked him what he had found and Dean explained triumphantly that he not only discovered that Isaiah had been buried not cremated, but that he knew exactly where the city had interred him in the pauper’s lot.

The boys dug up the grave and salted and burned the corpse before driving back to the murder scene from the night before to check on the painting.  When they got to the house, Sarah insisted on going with Sam to retrieve the painting so that they could bury it just to be sure.

Dean decided to stay in the car, keeping the engine running and as Sam went to step out of the car Dean whispered for him to go make his move.  Sam’s only response was a huff of derisive laughter and a hard roll of his eyes.  Dean had watched the two of them interact the entire afternoon and into the evening and it didn’t seem like Sam’s feelings were hurt.  Whatever had happened or been said between them, Dean must have misread it because Sam was being nice to her.

Dean really needed this to work, needed somehow for Sam’s getting laid or even perhaps falling for this girl, to make him somehow less of an option for Dean.  He wasn’t really sure this idea even made sense now, and oh how he hated the idea of them having sex, but he had nothing better to get his mind from viewing Sam as a viable partner, so he was going all in with this plan.  Dean even went so far as to turn on the radio to keep him from hearing anything that might happen between them in the house, he wanted Sam to seal the deal, needed him to, but that didn’t mean he could stomach hearing any part of it.

Sam realized what Dean was doing, at least the part about giving them privacy with the music, if not the real motivation behind it.  It pissed him off.  He understood Dean was only trying to help, in his annoying big brother way, but they were in the middle of a case, the last thing he was going to do was make out with someone while trying to retrieve a hopefully no longer malevolent panting from a murder scene.

It might have been Dean’s style, but it decidedly wasn’t Sam’s.  He unhappily motioned for Dean to cut it out, and his purposefully obtuse brother acted like he didn’t know he had done anything wrong.  Sam motioned more vehemently for him to turn the radio off, and Dean reluctantly did so.

Sam and Sarah made it inside the house only to find that the painting didn’t look at all like they had expected.  Not only was Isaiah still in the painting, and back to his original stance, but now the little girl was missing along with the straight razor. 

They both heard eerie giggling from somewhere off in the distance.

The hair stood up on the back of Dean’s neck seconds before the front door slammed on its own accord.  Dean bolted from the car running full tilt to the door, using his shoulder to try to bust it open.

Sam ran to the now blocked exit yelling for Dean through the thick heavy door.  Sam was in a panic yelling for his brother to bust the door in.  But it wouldn’t budge and Dean couldn’t pick the lock the way he had done earlier either.  Sam called Dean’s phone and told him he thought it was the little girl, and Dean wondered aloud about the father looking down sternly at her before as if he was trying to warn them or something. 

Dean hurriedly told Sam to find salt or iron or something to hold her off until he could figure out how to get in.  Sam and Sarah tore the house apart looking for either substance, but finding none. They both froze and watched the ghost of the little girl come into the room they were both in.  Sam backed into a group of pokers for the fireplace and realized that they were probably pure iron.  He used it against the spirit and it vanished after screaming in rage. 

Dean asked Sam if he was okay through the phone and Sam said yes and explained Sarah’s idea about the little girl’s doll she was carrying and how it might actually be made with the girl’s human hair.

Dean took off in Baby, doing almost a hundred before busting the car through the front gate of the cemetery where the family’s mausoleum was built.

A heavy writing desk was suddenly shoved violently across the room into Sam, penning him between it, the floor and the wall.  Sarah tried unsuccessfully to help get it off of him, before the ghost picked her up and threw her hard against the far wall.

Dean drove all the way up to the door of the tomb, jerking it open trying desperately to break the glass in front of the little girl’s doll.  He finally took out his gun and shot a hole in it.

Sam pushed against the desk with all his might, finally moving it enough to jump in front of Sarah shielding her body with his as the vicious ghost’s knife came down in an arc.  Neither of them were hurt because at that moment, Dean lit up the doll’s hair and watched it burn up into ash, the ghost’s image disappearing from in front of them, to reappear once more in the painting.

They regrouped the next morning at the auction house, Sarah instructed the packers to take the painting out back and burn it.  Dean recovered some county records detailing how the adopted Merchant daughter had evidently murdered her actual family in their beds and then moved on to kill the Merchants as well, leaving Isaiah to take the blame.

After a little more small talk the boys said it was time for them to go. Dean felt like the third wheel so even though he longed for Sam to come with him right that moment, he was still somewhat holding out hope of at least a little spark between Sam and Sarah.  Maybe kindle enough that upon seeing it, Dean’s desire would shrivel towards Sam and free him from the torturous longing that was as nonstop as the beat of his own heart.

He gave one conflicted last look at Sam before telling the two that he would go wait in the car, saying bitterly under his breath as he walked away, “I’m the one who burned the doll, and destroyed the spirit, but don’t thank me or anything.”

Sam and Sarah spoke about the fact that she didn’t get hurt in spite of his fears. They talked some about what that meant and what potentials it opened about him not actually being cursed.  He looked at this smart beautiful woman in front of him and all he could feel was sad.  Sad that he didn’t feel anything for her.  Sad that if she knew what was in his heart she would run screaming from the building.  Sad that he was nothing more than a twisted husk of need for his brother. 

Sam said goodbye and left her with a promise of coming back to see her again.  His heart was heavy as he walked towards the car where his brother waited.  He felt he had failed somehow, failed to take advantage of a situation that might ease his suffering and make him forget Dean.  He knew he never could, that nothing would ever make that happen, and a huge part of him didn’t even want it to, but maybe he should just do something meaningless for once. 

Sam could never have what his heart truly wanted, so why not lose himself in someone who could maybe ease the pain now and then?  He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of it, like he would be cheating on Dean.  But how was that even possible when Dean was the one that kept trying to push him towards Sarah to begin with.  His brother wanted to see him happy.  Dean needed him to be okay. 

Dean had been leaning against Baby, his head hung low, waiting with a boulder in his stomach and ash in his heart to see what the outcome would be between his brother and this woman.  But as soon as he saw Sam come out the door with his head down and an unhappy look on Sarah’s face, Dean knew things hadn’t changed.  His brother had not had any kind of romantic interlude with her that would convince Dean’s lost heart to stop wanting Sam.

Sam took a few steps towards the car, seeing Dean with his back turned to Sam, his shoulders hunched in like he knew Sam hadn’t closed the deal.  Dean not saying a word to him, said so much it hurt Sam’s heart.  Dean wanted Sam to be happy, needed to know that he was going to recover from Jessica, could move on with his life and be okay.  Sam was failing Dean by not following through with Sarah. 

So he turned on his heel, and walked back to the frosted glass and ironwork door, banging on it till Sarah opened back up.  Before he could change his mind, he grabbed her and kissed her. 

Dean turned and watched as his beloved took Sarah in his arms, the way Dean longed for him to do to him.  Dean’s face broke into a smile, that didn’t reach his eyes.  He said, “That’s my boy.”  Trying for all the world to mean it.  He wanted Sam to be happy, wanted him to find solace in someone healthy for him.

Dean’s eyebrows rose at the voracity of the kiss.  He had never watched Sam kiss anyone as an adult before and it ripped at his soul to observe it now.  But he tried to see it as something good.  As something Sam needed, as something to take into himself and remember whenever he felt desire for Sam.  This is what healthy looked like for his beloved, not all the filthy things his own body craved with Sam.

He climbed into Baby and tried to think of anything anywhere other than what was going on behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I would enjoy writing this one. For reasons that should be obvious, it hasn't ever been one of my favorites because of Sam and Sarah, and the difficulty between the brothers, but I really enjoyed the challenge of writing it surprisingly.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my take on why it went down the way it did.
> 
> Off to work on the next...


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